Main navigation

Quietus

I got off work early and arrived around midnight. The leaden sky was pregnant with snow, the cold air stinging my lungs. Uncle John had pulled strings with the nursing staff to extend visiting hours, since Grandma had always been a night owl. I entered through the ER and made my way through the dim hallways, glancing through open doors at the shadowed figures recumbent in hospital beds amidst the low drone of electronics, waiting. Waiting to be released, waiting for the test results, for a second opinion.

Autobiographical. My uncle the doctor was waiting in the room and talking about an aggressive course of physical therapy to get my grandmother home. When I saw the look of distress on her face I asked her flat out if she wanted to go home to die. With tears in her eyes she nodded. This was difficult for my uncle to deal with because he was a cardiac surgeon and very caught up in the idea that death was the enemy. But my grandmother was born in the same room that she slept in at home and she wanted to die there. She did, about two weeks later. My father and grandfather also died in that room.

I see the last sentence and my mind wants to say “WHO she was looking for.” Beautiful story. And, Oh, I remember the late night visits to see Gran. I didn’t get off work until 11 pm, but then she had worked nights all her life, so it was like morning tea to her.